Gemotions

He’d left the manuscript open. Just there, on the kitchen table, for her to see. The fictional "Sarah," with her exact quirks and insecurities, staring back at her. Her hands felt clumsy, useless. A wave of nausea rolled over her, making her lightheaded. Thomas, her Thomas, the man she shared a life with, was the author of this… this betrayal.

She grabbed her coat, her movements jerky and erratic, pulling the sleeves roughly. The front door slammed behind her, a loud, definitive sound. She needed space, air. The world felt too small, too close. She started walking, the city blurring around her, a symphony of horns and chattering voices she couldn’t process.

Each step was a struggle. Her vision swam, and she realized she hadn't taken a full breath since seeing the damning page. What had she missed? What else had he been hiding? The possibilities, the implications, were a heavy weight pressing her down.